


the best of you, honey, belongs to me

by ueberdemnebelmeer



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 04:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17257721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ueberdemnebelmeer/pseuds/ueberdemnebelmeer
Summary: In which a red cloak and cinnamon are involved.(Written forarthur_pendragon'sMerthur Kiss Fest)





	the best of you, honey, belongs to me

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly lifted from [_NFWMB_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pi6pLTrx94Q) by Hozier

Merlin wakes up to a timid ray of sunshine tickling his face. He stretches out an arm. He’s the only body tangled in the sheets, but he doesn’t let the disappointment cast a shadow on what his instincts deem the beginning of a great day.

As he opens the curtains and climbs off the bed, he immediately regrets leaving the cocoon of warmth Arthur’s – _their_ – bed provided: spring has already announced its arrival, but there still is a nip in the air in the mornings. He scuttles through their chambers on his tiptoes (the floor’s freezing), searching for his clothes (he’s sure he abandoned them on the floor the night before in their haste to reach the bed as soon as possible). His quest proves fruitless.

He finds Arthur’s cloak over a chair by the fireplace and flops into its plush cushion, draping the red fabric over his shoulders. He draws his knees to his chest and rests his chin on them, feeling the familiar tingle under his skin as he revives the embers left from the night before.

The fire is crackling merrily when a sound from the doorway makes him sit up. Merlin cranes his neck: Arthur’s shouldering the door closed, grunting. The backrest’s in the way, though, and prevents him from gathering what got the King’s hands occupied. He turns back to watching the flames dancing and licking the firewood and listens to Arthur’s footsteps: measured, cautious.

“Good Morn-” Arthur trails off. He’s balancing a steaming tray, the soft scent of stewed spices reaching Merlin’s nostrils and clueing him in on its contents.

“You brought me baked apples!” Merlin exclaims. As Arthur lays the tray on a footstool, he’s wondering what prompted him to bring them breakfast himself instead of entrusting the task to a servant as usual - splurging on expensive aromas from the East no less - and is about to ask him precisely that...

Arthur meets his eye, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles. His movements are clumsy, uncharacteristically so, as he serves the apples on their shared plate and slathers butter on several slices of rye bread still hot from the kitchens. He doesn’t wait for Merlin before tucking into his meal.

Merlin unfolds from the chair and sidles closer to grab Arthur’s wrist as he’s about to devour three more wedges of apple at once. He leans in and languidly bites the fruit, humming in delight, and chews it, deliberately slow.

Arthur’s breath hitches. His lips glisten, sticky with sugar. Inviting. Merlin scoots closer and presses his mouth to Arthur’s, runs his tongue along his bottom lip before licking the moisture that lingers there, tasting cinnamon and cloves.

Arthur’s eyes flit open and he lets out a breathy laugh. “I knew my genius mind had a great idea stuffing your clothes in the laundry basket this morning.”

“So that was you,” deadpans Merlin, but he can’t keep up the serious façade, already feeling the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile.

“My colours suit you.”

Merlin hums. “Do they?”

Fingers tuck flyaway curls behind his ear – a haircut is in order, but Merlin suspects Arthur is partial to burying his nose there despite his “wyvern’s nest” comments – before sliding down to cup his jaw, to tickle his neck, to squeeze his shoulders. One hand stops beneath his ribcage, the other drags down his side and sneaks under his kneepits. Merlin extricates his arms from the cloak to let it pool under his armpits and hooks them around Arthur’s neck, letting himself be carried to the bed bridal style.

Arthur eases him down amid the thick flannel sheets they managed to snarl up the night before. He leans closer and brushes his lips against Merlin’s chin, giving him small, sweet pecks along his jawline and when he reaches his ear, he whispers “They very much do,” making Merlin go limp and pliable as a ragdoll.

“But –” Arthur nips at his earshell, then sits back, plucking at the red fabric on Merlin’s chest, and adds with a mischievous glint in his eyes “– you look _much_ better without them.”

Arthur untucks him from the cloak, gently, and then his thumbs are playing with Merlin’s bottom lip, causing his whole body to buzz with the idea of what’s next. Arthur crowds him on the sheets mouthing at the base of his collarbones, lining pecks up the column of his neck. Merlin feels each moist whuff against his skin where Arthur trails the tip of his nose and teases him: a nuzzle under his ear, a peck on the apple of his cheek, a kiss at the corner of his mouth. Merlin’s smile is so wide that he giggles into Arthur’s mouth as he feels his lips glide against his own.

He unfastens Arthur’s belt and slides his hands under his tunic. Residual winter fat makes it all the more pleasant to run his palms across his tummy, to dig his fingers in Arthur’s sides.

Arthur exhales through his nose as he pries Merlin’s lips open and they finally deepen the kiss, this one breath making blood rush faster through Merlin’s body and his skin patchy hot in his cheeks, his nape, the top of his thighs. Merlin surges back up to ravish Arthur’s mouth, one hand cupping his neck and revelling in listening to Arthur’s breath shuddering.

There’s a knock at the door and Arthur shrieks in pain as he gets kneed in the groin. He props himself on one elbow and growls under his breath.

“George, damnit!”

Merlin can’t help it: he starts laughing, and doesn’t stop as he buries his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this image of Merlin wrapped in Arthur's cloak in my head for a while, but didn't really know how to go through with it without bringing into play hypothermia / hurt!Merlin / etc. until 3 days ago.


End file.
